


Letters

by mrsmcdarbear



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsmcdarbear/pseuds/mrsmcdarbear
Summary: It’s a B. The script on is thin and slanted; not nearly enough to even begin to guess if her soulmate is a boy, or a girl. Honestly, she’d feel a bit sexist for making assumptions based on their handwriting anyway. She’s bi, so it really doesn’t matter much, but now that she knows they’re out there she can’t stop picturing them. Sometimes they have boobs. Clarke likes boobs.orClarke and Bellamy are soulmates and they suck at figuring it out.





	1. Clarke

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I can't stop writing new stories. It just keeps happening.

Clarke sees her first letter on a Tuesday and immediately sends a 911 text to half her contacts. It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. She recently deactivated her Facebook under the influence of a marijuana induced soul search, and lost all her synced _friends_ , so she is basically is the least popular person like ever. So, she messaged a grand total of three people. She’s cool as fuck.

Wells left to attend a college a hundred miles away, but he’s quick to facetime her, because he’s still her best friend ever, and he apparently ditched class for this, which is his excuse for sitting on a toilet. There’s a picture of penis jizzing onto a stick figure with an umbrella in the background, so naturally, Clarke takes a screenshot.

“Stop judging me,” he glares through the camera. Clarke’s still laughing at him when Raven lunges through the door, in her gym clothes, sweaty, breathless, and red in the face like she ran up the stairs instead of taking the elevator like a normal person. She jumps on Clarke’s bed, diving for her arm before she can get a word out, and shoves her sleeve out of the way in a huff.

It’s a B. The script on is thin and slanted; not nearly enough to even begin to guess if her soulmate is a boy, or a girl. Honestly, she’d feel a bit sexist for making assumptions based on their handwriting anyway. She’s bi, so it really doesn’t matter much, but now that she knows they’re out there she can’t stop picturing them. Sometimes they have boobs. Clarke likes boobs.

“Holy shit,” Raven breathes. Before Clarke can open her mouth, her friend’s already got her phone out and snaps a picture of her wrist.

“What the hell are you going to do with that?”

“Instagram,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Hashtag, Clarke Griffin soulmate has emerged. Hashtag, Ark U West campus library coffee shop.”

“Hashtag, Clarke’s going to kill you if you post that.”

Raven shrugs. “I can live with that.”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Wells rolls his eyes.

“Semantics.”

“Seriously?” Clarke sighs, reclaiming her limb and cradling it to her chest.

There’s another knock on her door, which no one bothered to close, because she lives in a dorm where everyone knows everyone, and keeping your door shut all the time is either a cry for help, or a gigantic fuck you.

Raven doesn’t need a door for that though, and Clarke’s grateful she has a roommate that appreciates privacy as much as she does.

Even if it only extends to people she doesn’t consider a _friend_.

She walked in on Clarke watching porn once wearing nothing but a bra and pink sleep shorts with her hand down the front. They stared at each other in silence, before Raven blinked once, twice, threw a bag in the microwave and plopped down next her, like masturbating was some kind of group activity, which apparently involved popcorn – with _extra_ butter.

It was a weird night.

“Look who finally showed up!”

“You’ve literally been here for like 54 seconds, Reyes.” Monty says without looking at either of them. He has a notebook with a pen and yellow highlighter tucked into the spine.

She narrows her eyes, “That’s oddly specific. . .”

He sits on the floor by her bed, crosses his legs, and says, “There are 76 students currently attending with names starting with the letter B. 28 of them have class during or close to 11:42 AM. I’ve crossed those people off the list of possible candidates for now. There’s no way for me to account for the ones who potentially skipped, but it’s a start.”

Clarke opens and closes her mouth, having no idea how to respond to that. Monty has this way of making everyone around him feel like they’re inside a game of sims, and he’s that asshole clicking the mouse, ultimately deciding whether or not he’s going to remove all the doors from the room and watch you walk in circles, until you pee yourself and die.

Raven looks from her to Monty and back again.

Wells breaks first. “So, you’re like, really fucking scary, you know that?”

Monty looks up, and grins with all his teeth. “Oh, hey Wells. Didn’t see you there.”

“I only exist inside Clarke’s phone now,” he says, flat.

Clarke slides off her bed and sits next to Monty, peaking at his list. “You did all this in an hour?” she says in awe . . . and fear, because her friends are totally going to take over the world someday.

“I did all this in 38 minutes,” he says with a slant of his lips.

Wells whistles. Raven flicks Monty on the nose and steals his notebook, ignoring Clarke’s protest.

She snorts and raises her eyebrows. “Barbra?”

“Oh god.” Wells laughs. “I hope it’s Barbra.”

“I bet she goes by Barb,” Monty says, casual.  “And her major is Bowling Management.”

“Shit. Is that really a thing?” Raven cackles.

“Totally.”

“Does Ark City Alley take party reservations? We’re planning the wedding now, right? Just to confirm,” Wells adds.

Clarke bounces glares off everyone, because she can’t decide who to blame. “I hate you all.”

*

The second letter doesn’t show up until Sunday. Raven cleared her super busy schedule for this, or so she says, and insists Clarke pays for her four shots of espresso, even though she never asked her to come.

Clarke’s pretty sure her Sundays just consist of having lots of sex and dismantling various kitchen appliances at Wick’s apartment and recording it for YouTube. Not in that order.

“You don’t know my life. I could be missing church for this.”

“You’re an atheist.”

“I’m deity-curious.”

“So, agnostic?”

“I don’t like labels.”

“But you just – ” she stops herself, because it’s pointless. “Never mind.”

There’s a ding from the door as somebody new walks in and Raven’s eyes immediately drop to her arm. She pokes her wrist and scowls.

“Are you going to do that every time?”

“Yep.”

“So, what are the basics for this? Is there like an exact distance I have to be from the person? Do we need to make eye contact?”

“I think you just have to be aware of the others presence.”

Clarke frowns “Should we google this?” She feels really unprepared, like she’s about to have a one night stand and just realized she forgot the condom.

“Google is for the weak,” Raven says, stoic. “Besides, we’ve got Monty, basically the same thing, only better, because Monty comes with a Jasper, and moonshine.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “What are they up to today anyway?”

“I think my previous statement answers your question.”

She’s about to reply when obnoxious laughter echoes from behind her. Raven straightens her stance, like she’s preparing for some epic battle. She doesn’t trust crowds ever since last summer when they went to club for Wick’s twenty-first birthday and it ended in her biting a  homophobic bitch’s hand for taking a video of Clarke making out with her ex-girlfriend on the pool table.

Clarke turns and tries really hard not to obvious about checking out the giggling blonde clinging to the arms of her probably boyfriend and ordering a passion fruit green tea. They’re with two other dudes –  one who looks like he’s dealing with seriously hangover, judging by the sunglasses and grease in his hair, and the other wearing a beanie with his hands shoved in his front pockets, looking way too cool to be there.

She’s shaken out of her daze when Raven breathes out a string of curses followed by, “Omigod, omigod, it’s happening!” she cries in an ecstatic whisper.

Clarke jerks her wrist forward in time to see the final edge of a cursive –e etch itself onto her skin.

“Oh shit.” This is what Clarke wanted, it’s why she came, but it’s fucking terrifying. Her soulmate is one of the four people standing less than ten feet away from her. Her chest tightens and she gulps.

She glances back over her shoulder and freezes when she meets brown eyes and furrowed brows. He looks annoyed, and confused. That’s when she’s here’s the shutter of a camera.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Clarke hisses, snapping her head back towards her friend.

“Process of elimination,” Raven shrugs. “Also Instagram.”

“God damn it, Reyes.”

“Is there a reason you’re taking a picture me of and my friends?” One of them asks. His voice is deep and it cracks a little. Clarke can’t tell if it’s a regular occurrence, or if it’s a side-effect of being pissed.

“It was a selfie, bro. Get over yourself,” Raven replies coolly. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, because she’s never going to get past this if it escalates into a fight.

She gets enough courage to look back at him, and them, they’re all staring now, and it’s awkward as fuck. The blonde leans up to rub his shoulders and he lets out a breath and nods, breaking eye contact, and okay, he’s _definitely_ her boyfriend.

“What was that about?” she hears the cute-beanie-guy mutter, but that’s all she gets out of the rest of their conversation.

She glares at Raven, who bites her lip, apologetic. “I couldn’t resist,” she shrugs. “And I may or may not of had a one night stand with Freckles.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow. “Freckles?”

“I don’t remember his name. I’m not even sure we exchanged them. He has my number though, because I left the necklace Finn made me on his night stand and he sent me a picture the next day asking if it was mine.”

Clarke groans cupping her hands over her face.

“I told him to incinerate it,” she adds darkly.

“Great, just great.”

She barely registers them leaving with their orders, when _Freckles_ calls out, “Later Reyes.” Clarke meets his gaze again in time to catch his smirk, which is fucking criminal. “Raven’s friend,” he nods before letting his girlfriend tug him out the door. Clarke visibly gasps at the – B she sees sketched on her cup.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love me.


	2. Bellamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried continuing in Clarke's perspective and then this happened, so yeah. Enjoy.

The only thing worse than Bellamy Blake discovering he has a soulmate, is finding their first initial on his wrist in the midst of plunging his fingers into a gorgeous blonde. And unless he’s confusing her with someone else, said blonde’s name definitely does not start with a C. You know what does start with a C? _Cockblock_.

“I was so close, why did you stop?” the girl beneath him groans, bucking her hips at him. He licks his lips and recovers quickly.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he says cheekily, smirking in a way he hopes is charming when she looks down at him in between her thighs. Thank the Greek gods for long sleeves.

He gets her off twice before he ends up shoving his dick inside her when she tries to get his shirt over his head. It was really the only way he could think of distracting her, and he’s going not to complain about getting his cock wet in the process.

A half hour and three positions later he pulls out and rolls onto his back, breathing heavily.

“That was fun,” Bree sighs, curling into his side. Bellamy nods, staring up at the ceiling. _He has a fucking soulmate._ “We should do it again sometime,” she adds.

He glances at her and clears his throat, “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

She shoves his chin with the palm of her hand and rolls her eyes, “I wasn’t asking for a boyfriend, Blake. I just like having sex with you. We’re _friends_ , don’t be a douche about it.”

“Sorry, just – ” he rubs his hand over his face. “I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

“Way ahead of you,” she grins, kissing his cheek. He smiles a little and pecks her lips, before rolling off her bed and pulling on his boxers.

He’s in the middle of buttoning his jeans when she says, “Fuckbuddies can cuddle you know, I’m not going to fall in love with you if you stay the night.” 

She’s lying on her side, smiling up at him and wiggling her hips a bit. He smirks and grabs his keys off of her dresser. “I wouldn’t want to risk it. I am pretty irresistible.” This earns him another eye roll and a pillow being chucked at his face. He laughs. “I’m only teasing,” he says, walking over to give her another slow kiss, with tongue, for emphasis. He lets her get into it enough for her arms to reach up and wrap around his neck before pulling away. He’s kind of an asshole.

“Maybe next time, I have a paper I need to work on tonight.” It’s a lie, and Bellamy sucks at lying, or so his sister says. If it’s true, Bree doesn’t seem to care. He gave her orgasms, so he’s not going to feel guilty about it.

“So, that’s a yes to more sex then?” she giggles, tugging the covers up and over her bare chest. He already misses the sight of her nipples.

“That’s a _hell yes._ ”

*

“This is fucking bullshit,” Bellamy says, dropping his Xbox controller and glaring at the screen like it’s to blame for everything that's ever gone wrong in his life.

Miller shrugs. “You do suck more than usual, yeah. I think we have a better chance of winning without you.”

“I had five headshots.”

“And you died five times. Is your argument that your presence is meaningless? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

Miller knife’s a bitch, glances at him, then back at the TV. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Mmk,” Miller nods, feigning indifference.

It takes a solid two minutes before Bellamy clears his throat and says, “Do ever wonder if you have a soulmate?”

Miller freezes, in real life and in the game. He gets blown up a few seconds later. “Wow. We’re having that conversation?” Bellamy grunts in response. “Does that mean . . ?”

He tugs his sleeve up and shows him his wrist. “What do you think?”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

“When did this happen?”

“Today.”

“Do you know where you were?”

“Not a fucking clue. I was on campus most of the morning, and then I went to Grounders with Bree, had a few drinks, let her take me home. Now I’m here,” Bellamy says, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m assuming _congratulations_ is not the response you’re looking for?” Bellamy shoots him a look, because they’re best friends, and Miller should know better. “Right, okay.”

“Just answer the damn question,” Bellamy sighs.

“I don’t know man. I don’t exactly share the same dilemma as you when it comes to the whole soulmate thing. I’m cool with having one and cool with not. I mean I get why you hate the idea. Your sister’s dad was a total dick, but it’s not always like that. If you don’t want it change your life, don’t let it.”

Calling Octavia’s dad a dick is an understatement. The guy was – _is_ vermin. They like to forget he’s still alive sometimes, because he’s in prison for multiple gun trafficking crimes. They’re never going to see him again, regardless, so it’s basically the same thing as being buried in the ground, figuratively.

He knows a lot of his shitty childhood was his mother’s fault, but it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who’s actually deceased, and he can’t help but wonder if things would’ve been different, had she never met her soulmate. She wasn’t a bad person, exactly, just made a lot of bad choices, but he still loved her, because she’s family. He wonders if that’s how Octavia feels about – fuck. His heart breaks a little. He pushes his hair off his forehead and sighs, not wanting to think about this anymore, and says, “I need a beer. You want one?”

Miller nods and chews his lip. “Don’t stress, man,” he says, when Bellamy returns from the kitchen. “It’s one letter. Some people don’t get a full name for years. You might never run into them again.”

“Yeah, I’ll cheers to that,” he agrees and they clink their bottles together, while Bellamy tries to ignore the tightening in his chest. He’s known he’s had a soulmate for less than a day and it’s already fucking with his head.

“Want to get drunk and watch history documentaries on Netflix?”

“Why couldn’t you be my soulmate?” Bellamy asks, happy for the change of tone, and because Miller’s the fucking best. They’d make a cute couple, objectively speaking.

“If I was your soulmate, you’d have freaked out the first time we met and been an awkward dick about the whole thing.”

“I was still an awkward dick when we met.” It’s true. They got in a serious fight at the movie theater during the previews for _The Amazing Spiderman 2_ when Bellamy kicked Miller’s seat for suggesting Maguire made a better Spiderman than Andrew Garfield. Bellamy later realized he did agree that Andrew was too cool to really capture the true essence of Peter Parker, but was still super bitter about Maguire’s emo dance scene in the third movie, so he really didn’t care enough to admit defeat. Miller got so pissed he took off his beanie and Bellamy couldn’t keep from laughing. The cat fight ended with Octavia throwing pretzel bites at both of them and getting them all kicked out of the theater.

“Yeah,” Miller agrees, smiling a little. “But we wouldn’t have become friends after. You’d be too busy actively trying not to be attracted to me.”

Bellamy snorts, and sips his beer. “Yeah, that’s it.”

*

“I fucking hate Sundays,” Miller states, propping his feet up on the coffee table Octavia made them as a house warming gift. She built it out of beer crates, because she has too much time on her hands and spends half of it on something called Pinterest, which according to Ocatavia is, _like the bible, Bell._ He's only mildly concerned that his sister has joined a cult, in the form of a downloadable app. He's trying not to judge.

“I think you’re supposed to save that for Monday,” Bellamy says.

“I like to get a head start. I think the anticipation of knowing the weekend is ending is worse than it actually being over.” Bellamy ducks his head to hide his grin.

“Where’d Bree go?” Murphy asks when he emerges from his room two hours after she left. He spends a lot of time hiding in there, which is mostly fine, because they can only take Murphy’s personality in small doses, before probably needing medical attention. It only gets weird when Bellamy thinks he hears him talking to himself in there, along with some banging, scratching noises, and strange little mews. He’s not sure if he’s jerking off to some hardcore porn, or hiding a cat.

“She had work,” Bellamy replies, flat and turns the page he wasn’t finished reading for the sake of looking busy and avoiding conversation. Miller rolls his eyes at the TV, but Bellamy’s pretty sure it’s directed at him.

“Oh, good. Then I can ask you about the hot brunette from earlier. I never got the story of you two.”

“Bellamy pity fucked her, because she just got dumped and he’s a dick,” Miller says, ducking the book Bellamy tosses at his head. He’s setting him up on purpose, the traitor. Miller knows he can’t not respond to bullshit.

“Wrong. I know you’re gay, but you saw her right?” he asks and pauses, to give them time picture her. “Definitely wasn’t a pity fuck and she didn’t get dumped, he cheated,” he adds, petulant.

Murphy snorts. “So she broke up with him by default? Big Difference.”

“Why do you even care?” Bellamy shoots back.

“I’m bored,” Murphy shrugs, settling on the other side of the couch, next to Miller. “Also wondering if you still have her number, maybe she’s still looking for someone to help her get over her ex.”

“And that someone is you?” Miller shakes his head when Murphy opens his mouth. “I don’t need an answer to that.”

“Yeah, no,” Bellamy confirms.

“What?” Murphy snaps.

He clears his throat. “Yes, I have her number, and no you can’t have it. She’s dating someone new now anyway,” he says, thinking it’ll get Murphy to stop hovering and crawl back into his hole.

“And you know this how?” Miller asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I – Uh. I may have found her on Facebook. Don’t look at me like that.”

“You don’t even have Facebook,” Miller’s says, studying him more interest than Bellamy’s comfortable with.

He shifts in the recliner. “I used Octavia’s. . . Shut up.”

“You know your sister’s password?” Miller asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Bellamy huffs. “I asked her first, I – You know what, no. I don’t need to explain myself.”

“You really do,” Miller says.

“Yeah, using your sister to stalk your one night stand,” Murphy whistles, “That’s a new low.”

Bellamy’s eyes flicker between the both of them, panicking a little, because when the hell did Murphy and Miller agree on anything ever?

“I wasn’t even,” Bellamy hesitates, rubbing his hands on his face. “I was trying to find her friend.”

“What,” Murphy says, not impressed in the slightest. Miller pauses his game, because apparently this conversation demands his full attention.

Bellamy twitches, “What?”

“Explain,” Miller says.

“Fine, just – Go away, Murphy,” he says, jerking his head.

“Fuck you, Blake. I pay rent.” There’s a sound of crash down the hall and some screeching howl. They all three stare at each other, unblinking. Murphy taps his fingers on the arm of the sofa, casual. Then, “So, I’ll be in my room,” he says and runs away.

“We should probably address that at some point,” Miller says after.

Bellamy shrugs, “I already asked the landlord, we’re allowed to have pets.”

“And you didn’t tell him?” he asks, flat. Bellamy doesn’t say anything. “You’re not going to tell him.”

“This is more fun,” he says, unable to hide his smirk. Miller shakes his head, but he’s totally laughing on the inside.

“Okay, so back to the _friend_ thing.”

“The girl that was sitting across from her,” Bellamy says, crossing his arms, wishing he still had his book, so he could cover his face. “She was hot, right?” he adds, trying to appear careless.

“Dude.”

“Just trust me, she was hot.” Her hair was in a messy side braid and she was wearing a Marvel t-shirt with gray sweat pants and he totally imagined her naked. It was the best.

“So, what? Your plan was to stalk your ex-hook up’s Facebook, looking for a new hook up, after hooking up with your current hook up?”

“You make it sound more confusing than it is,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, obviously my choice of words is the real problem in this situation.”

“Why are you assuming there’s a problem? There’s no problem. I couldn’t even find her,” he adds, trying to hide his aggravation. He found pictures of her next to Raven and some cute Asian kid, he’s hoping is not her boyfriend. She had her arms wrapped around both of them. But there was no name. The caption said, _partners in crime_. He thinks he just doesn’t know how to Facebook.

“What about Bree?”

“What about her? She knows were not serious. Trust me she’s cool with it.”

“Does not being serious mean non-exclusive? Not everyone is cool with fucking someone who’s fucking other people,” Miller says, slow.

“I’m not fucking other people.”

“Right. You’re just trying to.”

“That’s not even – _fuck_.” Bellamy groans into his hands.

“What?”

He speaks, but with his hands still covering his mouth.

“Dude, I can’t understand you. Act your age.”

Bellamy sighs, leaning back in the recliner to stare at the ceiling. “I got another letter today.”

“Oh.”

Bellamy glances at him. Miller’s fucking smiling. “Wait, so you think this girl is your soulmate?”

“It showed up after we left the coffee shop.”

“Oh my god,” he’s laughing now. “You checked.”

“No, I – ”

“You totally did. You thought she was hot and you fucking looked. You wanted it to be her.”

“Shut up.”

Miller’s grinning with all his teeth, like a shark that smells blood. “I’m texting your sister.”

“This changes nothing.”

“She texted back a smiling Satan, a knife, and two beer emojis,” he says, shaking his head. “What do you think that means?”

“Probably that she’s pissed I didn’t tell her I had a fucking soulmate. Miller – where are you going?”

“Get your fucking shoes on, Blake.”

"I want it on record that I'm still planning on dying alone."

"You like her," Miller says, throwing Bellamy's sneakers at him.

"I don't even know her!" Bellamy falters, "I just thought she was cute."

"You said she was _hot_. You also tried to find her on your sister's Facebook," he adds, like it means something. It doesn't.

"I wanted to figure out who she was, before she figures out who I am. It was a preemptive strike, Miller! MILLER."

"Your sister says if we're not at Grounders in ten minutes, she's going to post the picture she took of you sleeping naked cuddling with a stuffed Pikachu," he says, flat, looking straight at Bellamy. "I have so many questions."

"God fucking dammit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Clarke. I'm sorry there wasn't any scenes of them together. I got pretty caught up in Bellamy and Miller dialogue . I thought about cutting scenes, and then I didn't, so. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you guys enjoy the banter!


End file.
